"Saturation" by Bone

They up Ronon's dose again the next day.

He tries to fight it, but he's coming to love it, and he knows that should freak him out—it's Wraith, for fuck's sake—but now it mostly makes him feel like he can do anything he wants, anytime he wants, to anyone he wants.

Ford sics his men on him in waves, calls it "training," but Ronon knows better. Ford wouldn't exactly hate it if Ronon let his guard down for a second and they accidentally killed him on purpose.

So he takes them on—one by one, then three at a time, then five at a time. While he fights, he feels invincible. The drug's at a level now where it saturates the deepest, darkest corners of his body, mind, and spirit. It's charged him to a point where lashing out is easier than talking and stillness is a hard-won battle over the constant, draining need to move.

Ford doesn't know what he's done.

The shit works.

Beating Ford's men doesn't begin to give Ronon what he needs; it just amps up his arousal until even the slide of his shirt against his chest makes his cock lurch. The harder he's hit, the more he feels, and the more he feels, the more he wants.

By nightfall, Ronon's ready to drill Sheppard through the wall.

He knows he can't go to Sheppard feeling like this. He doesn't trust himself, and Sheppard doesn't seem to understand what he's becoming, or what he's capable of.

So he runs in the forest until he's sure he won't kill the first person he meets, then slowly makes his way back toward the camp. His heightened senses alert him to the presence of others in the dark, and he fades back, pulling skills to the surface that he hasn't needed much since he went to Atlantis.

His ears are so tuned to danger that it takes a minute to filter through what he's hearing:

Sex.

Lots of it.

He crouches at the base of a tree and leans back against it; he could be there awhile. No wonder it's so quiet inside at night—these boys take their business outside. It makes sense; Ford's men sleep in bunks, not separate quarters. As he well knows, there's no true privacy in the caves.

Damn.

He tries to tune it out, but something's…off about it, something that nags at him until he makes himself focus on the nearest sound, the low rhythmic moan of a man getting his cock pulled or sucked. Ronon works it out just in time to hear the crescendo.

There's no counterpoint. No murmurs in the dark, no echoing groan. Whoever he is, he's alone.

Ronon moves silently forward until he hears another. Then another. It's always the same. Each man is alone, furtively alone, jerking off in the dark.

Ronon's human—the sounds of sex make him want it, too. His hand hovers over his groin in sympathetic, inevitable response, but he restrains himself.

Fuck that.

He's done that.

It's all too easy to imagine a time when his only release will come from his own hand in the cold and the dark, when he'll once again have to be entirely self-sufficient.

But tonight is not that night.

Tonight, he has Sheppard.

***

Sheppard's stretched out on his pallet like he's waiting for Ronon, one hand cupping his crotch. He looks up when Ronon pushes the curtain closed, and slides his palm slowly down his hard-on, visible through his pants.

Ronon's heart jumps in his chest, his cock thickening.

Sheppard moves his hand toward the lantern, but Ronon shakes his head.

"Leave it on," he says softly. "I want to see you."

Sheppard sits up and leans back on his hands. He lifts his chin at Ronon. "You first," he says, his voice low and uneven.

Ronon holds Sheppard's gaze and strips off his neck cords, then his shirt. He bends over to take off his boots and hears Sheppard suck in a sharp breath and rise from the pallet.

Ronon stands and starts to unfasten his pants, but Sheppard's right there in front of him, turning him so Ronon's back is lit by the lantern.

"Jesus Christ," Sheppard mutters, running his hand along Ronon's shoulder blade. "Are they aiming for this? Do they know?"

Ronon didn't flinch for Beckett; he's certainly not flinching for Sheppard. He stands still, lets Sheppard run his fingers along the scar and the bone-deep bruise beneath it.

"They know it gets a reaction," Ronon says with a shrug. "They're looking for any vulnerability."

Sheppard turns him back around with a hand on his arm. He looks so serious Ronon feels compelled to reassure him. "I don't let it stop me."

"Obviously," Sheppard says, his mouth tight.

Ronon slides his hand up under Sheppard's shirt and rubs his thumb along one of Sheppard's ribs. "It's okay."

"It's really not. This whole thing—" Sheppard says, and Ronon stops him with his mouth, kissing him over and over until Sheppard slumps against him, opening his mouth wider, sucking Ronon's tongue into his mouth.

Ronon had forgotten the bruise until Sheppard touched it; it's like his body comes to life under Sheppard's hands, hurt and heat entwined.

Sheppard pulls away, breathing fast. "Show me the rest," he says, taking a step back.

Ronon strips his remaining clothes and moves into the light. His shadow meets Sheppard's on the wall behind him, the two shapes merging when Sheppard approaches him. Sheppard traces Ronon's body with his hands, lightly grazing each scrape, each bruise. He drops to a crouch to look at Ronon's legs. Ronon's dark enough that some of the marks hardly show in the low light, but Sheppard finds them anyway, on Ronon's thighs, his lower back, the side of his hip. It's instinct to protect the groin, so both hips have wide purple stripes—stick marks. They don't bother him, but Sheppard looks pretty pissed off.

"This is what the enzyme does?" Sheppard asks, glancing up at him.

"This is what warriors do," Ronon corrects him. "The enzyme just makes us better at it."

"They're beating the crap out of you," Sheppard says, lifting first one foot, then the other, pressing his hand to the arch.

"You should see them," Ronon says, balancing easily until Sheppard lets his foot drop back to the floor.

Sheppard looks up at him from his crouch and shakes his head, giving him a hint of a smile.

Ronon reaches down and pulls Sheppard to his feet, drawing him in. Sheppard puts his hand on Ronon's chest, his touch more personal than clinical now, his thumb finding one of Ronon's nipples and rubbing it erect.

Ronon drops his chin and rumbles in approval, twisting against Sheppard's hand.

"Harder," he murmurs, and Sheppard follows his instruction until the pressure's exactly right. Ronon can still feel the echoes of Sheppard's hands on his body, sharp tingles that fade in the face of the new stimulation, and he shudders, his eyes drifting closed, concentrating on the warmth of Sheppard's strong body against him and the fire streaking from his distended nipple to his cock.

"Want to fuck me?" Sheppard breathes against his neck.

Ronon opens his eyes. Sheppard's stroking Ronon's stomach, his eyes down, watching as his hand moves further down, and Ronon groans.

Yes. Too much.

"You do me," Ronon says, dragging Sheppard to the pallet and lying back, pulling Sheppard between his spread thighs. "I don't think I can keep it together."

Sheppard quirks a smile at him, pulling away long enough to strip bare. "Want me to tie you up?"

"Uh, no, that's okay," Ronon says, grinning back briefly. "Thanks anyway."

The smile fades when Sheppard slides back between his legs, and Ronon tips his head back, grabbing the bedding beneath him so he won't grab Sheppard instead. He wants so much, wants Sheppard hard and deep, and now, and Sheppard's being gentle.

"Don't—" he gasps.

Sheppard stills above him. "Don't what?"

Ronon rolls his hips up, drags his leaking cock across Sheppard's belly. He licks his lips, tries to slick his dry mouth. "Don't be careful. I can't. Just…believe me. I need—"

Whatever else he might have fumbled to say is lost as Sheppard shoves two fingers in his ass. Ronon arches his back, bearing down on them, forcing them deeper. He lets the feeling wash over him, absorbs it, savors it.

Sheppard's found something somewhere, salve or oil, something slick and cool that coats the head of his cock when it forces its way abruptly into Ronon's body. Ronon would have accepted Sheppard dry and rough, maybe even preferred it, but Sheppard's obviously appreciating the slide and glide it's giving him—his arms are already starting to shake, and his mouth goes slack as he reaches full penetration.

"Good?" Sheppard asks, his voice cracking.

Ronon nods. He's not sure he can talk, so he lets his body speak for him, lifting to meet Sheppard's first hard thrust, pressing his knees along Sheppard's sides, holding him in place.

Sheppard rocks against him, thrusting even deeper. He pushes Ronon's knees back towards his shoulders, the position stretching Ronan's back and thighs until they protest. Ronon relaxes, breathes deep until his muscles relax, until he can wind the sting back into pleasure, linking Sheppard's weight with the pressure on his thighs, the hard heat of Sheppard's cock with the throbbing ache in Ronon's back, creating a connection that makes every sensation good. He opens wide, opens his body and his mind and lets Sheppard reach into places even the enzyme can't touch.

It's nothing like last time. He's not fighting his own dark desires, or worrying about hurting Sheppard. It's just…easy. Good. Sheppard's so damn good at this.

He comes first with Sheppard's hand wrapped tight around his cock, Sheppard's cock lodged heart-deep inside him, an orgasm so intense his vision wavers to black. After Sheppard shakes through his own orgasm, he withdraws his cock and drives Ronon to another one on his fingers, rubbing hard and perfect deep inside while his mouth sucks out the last of Ronon's control and energy along with his climax.

When he's done, Ronon drowses under him, his body aching and warm, finally, if momentarily, sated.

Ronon rouses when he feels Sheppard wiping first his stomach, then between his legs. Ronon takes the blanket from him, tosses it in the corner, and yanks Sheppard down on top of him. Sheppard doesn't seem to mind; he just rubs his head up under Ronon's chin and starts tracing the bruises on Ronon's chest and stomach with his fingers. It feels…good. Maybe too good, given where they are, who they're with.

He thinks about the lonely men seeking release in the woods and holds Sheppard a little tighter.

"I still think this is dangerous," Ronon says after awhile. "Talk about being vulnerable. If someone came in just then—"

"You'd have gone apeshit stark naked, swinging your dick around like a club," Sheppard says against his shoulder. He shifts around, digs his elbow in Ronon's armpit. "I'm not worried about this."

Ronon hefts him a little higher, gets him off a sore spot. "Just everything else."

"Yeah," Sheppard says.

"Ford's pretty fucked up," Ronon says.

"But he's not stupid," Sheppard says. "He's got the upper hand right now."

Ronon strokes Sheppard's back, finds a small knot of muscle and works it with his thumb. Sheppard nudges his hand further down, and Ronon goes to work on another knot.

"He's crazy, you know that, right?" Ronon asks. "He's not the same person you knew."

Sheppard sighs. "But he's still in there, somewhere. I think."

"He's using you," Ronon says flatly.

Sheppard stiffens slightly against him, then eases down again. "Probably," he says.

Ronon waits, wants Sheppard to tell him he's got a plan, he can get them out, but Sheppard's quiet against him, one hand idly rubbing his collarbone.

"I could take him," Ronon offers into the silence.

There's a beat of deeper silence, then Sheppard turns his face into Ronon's neck and whispers, "Don't."

"I know I can beat him. I'm stronger than he is," Ronon says. "Especially now."

Sheppard lifts his head, looks down at him. "He's got ten times the men. You take him out, they'll kill you."

Ronon meets Sheppard's eyes steadily. "I'm okay with that."

"And me. And McKay, and Teyla," Sheppard says, thumping Ronon's chest with his finger, punctuating each word.

Shit.

"I hate this," Ronon says, wrapping his hand around the back of Sheppard's neck, bringing him back down again.

"So do I," Sheppard says.

***

Ronon's awake long after Sheppard's nodded off on his chest, heavy in sleep, a welcome weight on him. Ronon wraps his arms around Sheppard, shifts them to their sides. He takes his accustomed spot between Sheppard and the door.

He thinks about what Sheppard said about him fighting naked. Sure, he'd do that. Naked, unarmed, out-manned. It wouldn't matter. Threaten him, threaten his team, and he'll fight to the death. It's the only way he knows.

He's trusted his instincts longer than he's trusted any man, and he knows, he knows, there's worse coming. He feels it in his bones.

Maybe they'll double his dose tomorrow.

And maybe it'll be enough.